


First Flight

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Ficverse: Parker and Madison Stokes [13]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, More characters to be featured in smaller roles, Nick Stokes Whump, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ships are tagged but not necessarily the focus of the fic, collapsed building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Five years after the events of Last Breath, the Stokes family is still reconciling with their individual and shared traumas as Parker begins to think about his future, but there are certain events and forces that keep him from flying to the draw that calls to him.But it's really Nick that holds him back.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes, Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes, Nick Stokes & Catherine Willows, Nick Stokes & Gil Grissom, Nick Stokes & Madison Stokes, Nick Stokes & Parker Stokes, Nick Stokes & Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Ficverse: Parker and Madison Stokes [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385533
Comments: 9
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue: The Draw

**Author's Note:**

> Direct sequel to Last Breath, because I decided I didn't go hard enough in that fic. 
> 
> Good luck.

His hands are empty but his fingers curl up into pudgy fists as something pulls one of his arms forward,  _ reaching  _ forward towards the blurry unknown in front of him. The other hands by his waist, clutching the finger of the familiar though the finger is trying to squirm out of his grasp.

His grip tightens.

_ “Come here, Parker. Come on…” _

He doesn’t want to. 

But he does. 

_ Oh, _ he desperately does.

The blur shrinks and sharpens, basked in a golden twilight glow he sees her crouching down, her hands outstretched towards him. He can’t clearly see her face but he can see the twinkle in her eyes, the radiance of her encouraging smile.

_ “You can do it, honey!” _

He furrows his brow and wonders why she’s standing so still. Why she’s so far away. Unreachable.

It’s frustrating, why can’t she just come get him? He can’t move, his knees are wobbling, ready to buckle at a moment’s notice. His toes dance towards each other as he waves his free arm at her, grabbing at her form with his fingers, but she slips through his grasp.

_ “Go on,”  _ a new voice behind him, also encouraging but also...reluctant. Strained. Worried.

Really, he's just as terrified as his son.

Maybe even more so.

_ “ _ _ G-go on, it’s...it’s okay. You got this.” _

It really sounds like he’s talking to himself more than he’s talking to Parker, especially as he feels the finger hook between his fingers as if now  _ he’s  _ the one not ready to let go.

He whines, because he doesn’t want to let go either, but he  _ has  _ to get to her. 

He  _ has  _ to move forward, even if the new world laid out at his feet terrifies him.

“Moooooommaaaaaa,” he starts to cry as he lifts up a foot.

It’s a word he’s never said before.

And never has much use for it.

_ “Yes! That’s it, you want me? Come get me!” _

The foot shakes as he stretches his leg out—too far,  _ too late,  _ he realizes.

“Oomf!” he huffs as he falls on his cushioned butt, the diaper is filling and it’s so...discomforting. His whines turn into crying grunts.

_ “Aw, it’s okay, sweetie, you can try again!”  _

He feels two large hands, warm and clammy against the gaping skin between the crinkling plastic and the t-shirt that has a reference that goes way over his young head. 

_ “No, Nick. Let him go. Let him do it.” _

He’s silent, but she continues on as if he had said something else. Parker wastes no time, he leans forward and pushes himself up.

_ “All baby birds have to leave the nest, you know that better than anyone and look! Look at how strong he is, he’s getting back up all by himself!” _ her voice becomes less firm as she goes from addressing the familiar force behind him, to a siren’s call that lures him into confidence with praise.

He’s a big boy, after all, or so she keeps telling him. He can most definitely do this.

They make it sound so easy, just one foot in front of the other, just like that silly song from the Sandy Claws special that his mother and father always sing to him in these little lessons. 

He tries to sing along with them, but he just babbles along instead.

As his palms leave the plush carpet, tingling with faint impressions from his pressing into the fibers, he rises to his full height but somehow he stretches further than the two and a half feet—he used to be small for his age though he was smarter for his age—to the five foot-seven inches he stands as a twenty year old man standing with his shoes tangled in branches and leaves, his eyes still focused on the glowing light at the end of a nature-made tunnel of trees that shrinks in on itself as he traverses through, keeping one hand in front of him, reaching towards the voice that’s growing more distant, fading back into nothing more than a memory though he’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Meanwhile, the other hand is clutching his phone. Clutching the unread text from the father asking when he’s going to be home, if he’s coming home, in fact—he  _ needs  _ him and  _ where the hell is he? _

Parker knows that he wouldn’t like the answer to that question, as he takes one step, then another towards a forest full of memories that are not as sweet as the voice of his mother.

He makes it halfway through the tunnel before he loses his breath, and his balance along with it. Knees buckle under the pressure of taunting laughter, the screams of the two most important people in the world that flow with the wind that pierces his ears.

His eyes burn, his lower lip wobbling.  _ Dammit,  _ he promised himself this wouldn’t happen. Big boys don’t cry.

His mother, however, seems delighted as she rushes forward, scooping him up and embracing him into the tightest, most heavenly hug as she cups her hand behind his head, rocking him back and forth while he feels his father’s hand on an oddly jagged back, delicately stroking the sore scars still pressing into him after all these years.

He doesn’t understand why they’re so supportive. He didn’t make it. He’s certainly not proud of himself.

But they are, as his mother reassures him, with more words of encouragement he doesn’t feel he deserves.

_ “Parker, these are your first steps.” _


	2. What Did I Miss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Parker Stokes, one of the best days in his life while Nick is having a not so great day, himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have said this in the prologue notes, but you may have already noticed I put a "character death" warning tag up. There's a lot of mention about death in this chapter but...that's not it. As of right now in my planned outline, that'll be coming in chapter nine.

Even though he thinks he’s ahead of the curve, his innocence shattered at an early enough age for him to get a glimpse outside the shelter of his youth, Parker Stokes will be the first to admit there is still a lot to life he doesn’t understand. 

One of those things is his father’s love for flying. 

He has vague memories of childhood days spent on swings and slides, the free fall sensation never seemed to entertain him as much as the other children on the playground. Or even his father, who would often swing next to him, show him how to pump his legs to go higher, faster—something his sister would playfully scream for in between the fits of giggles that his father would catch by contagion. 

His father would join him on the steepest, tallest slides but even encased in his father’s arms he never quite felt a sense of security—what if they kept sliding? What if they flew into the air only to crash down because the force of gravity is the most unforgiving of all, and even his father wouldn’t be able to hold him forever.

And perhaps that’s what turns him off to the idea of flying. They were never _meant_ to fly. There’s no stopping, humans don’t have wings, they don’t have brakes. 

“That’s why we’ve had to make them, Park,” Nick informs him as he ties the straps around Parker’s body, pressing down and pulling up on his helmet to make sure it’s secure. “And it’s completely safe, I promise.”

“That’s what you said about the camping trip,” Parker points out to sober his eager father if only for a second before he turns away to set himself up, holding a hand to stop a bouncing Madison from jumping on him to “help.”

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” she sneers in a low voice, shoving her brother. 

“I’m only doing this cause Dad wants me to…” Parker mutters under his breath.

“This is the happiest he’s been in a long time.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose together, takes a deep breath.

“I know.”

“Don’t fuck this up for him.”

 _“Language,”_ Parker mock-gasps. “Or I’ll ground ya.”

“Daaaaaad, Parker can’t ground me, right?”

“Course he can,” Nick chuckles gruffly. He puts his hands on each of their shoulders. “We can all ground each other.”

Both siblings groan when they realize he’s making a pun, tugging gently on the emergency parachutes triggers. 

“Alright, Panchitos, you ready?”

_No._

“Yes,” Parker breathes. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Little more confidence, son!” 

“Yeah, let’s do it!” Madison cheers.

“See, like that!” Nick swats Parker on his chest, and Parker feigns hurt with a pout that Nick ignores, knowing he’s just giving a little bit of attitude for attitude’s sake, and starts towards the edge of the cliff. 

A sight which unsettles Parker more than the idea of flying, which _scares_ him more than the idea of flying—and maybe it’s not even the _flying_ that bothers him more than it is the idea of _falling._

“On the count of three! One...” 

Suddenly he’s shorter. Madison’s smaller. His father’s _younger,_ no hunching because his back is still sort of straight, his knees aren’t wobbling. 

His hands are tied behind his back. 

“Two…”

Two times.

His father fell... _two times._

It’s probably why he’s so calm. He’s lived through this before.

But there’s no chance he could live through it again.

There’s no chance _Parker_ could go through it again.

“Three!” 

Nick and Madison run ahead first, Parker wasn’t entirely sure how this part goes; he wonders if both of them had done it before and kept it from him cause they know he’d worry, especially as he screams— _“NO, WAIT!”_ at the top of his lungs when their heads disappear into the neverending pit below—he can’t even see the bottom as his feet carry him over and he’s pulled down with an invisible grip around his ankles dragging him like an anchor—

But his parachute opens and he’s lifted up—Parker can count on one hand the amount of times he felt this level of elation in the past five years, and suddenly his screams aren’t quite composed of terror, but of a thrill he’s... _excited_ to have. The air wraps around him, keeping him in a levitating raft and he feels safe enough to focus less on the dangers of what _could_ happen, and more on the beauty of what _is_ happening.

His father and sister are far ahead, looking back at him and happy that he seems to finally found a way to fit into the flock as they soar through the air. The expanse of the canyon they’re gliding through is expansive, though he suddenly feels as small as a star in the night sky there’s a revelation that the world is even bigger than he could imagine, that there’s so much in store for him to experience and explore. San Diego is just a blip, Vegas and Austin has really been the furthest he’s gone from home and even then, those visits are fleeting.

Seeing this new perspective, this three dimensional glimpse into the _real_ world outside the sandbox constructed by his father’s boundaries, gives him something he’s never realized he was missing. 

Freedom.

And _now_ Parker gets the appeal of flying. 

That is...until he hears a gunshot.

And a _squish._ A _squelch._ The sound of flesh being smashed on the ground.

The sound of a monotonous flatline pierces his eardrums, blood rushing to his head in a panic.

“DADDY!” Madison screams, her hands outstretching and since she’s closer, Parker doesn’t even try—he instead traces the reverse trajectory, finds the source of the bullet before another one is sent and shoots Madison down out of the sky too, screaming into the unknown void as she plummets even faster than their father.

 _“Don’t move!”_ a sharp tongue slaps at his face, “ _Or you’ll end up like your dear old dad down there, along with that little brat sister of yours…”_

He dares to look down one last time, at the two squashed bugs at his feet that he’s sinking, no— _falling_ down but they’re getting smaller and smaller as the world around him gets overwhelmingly large, as his chute is caught on some sort of branch? No, it’s metallic, a rod? No...it’s thicker. Hollow. 

A barrel.

The barrel of a gun that he’s now staring down, he grips the edges, trying to cling on but he knows that once the bullet emerges from the darkness he’ll be squashed, too. 

He looks past the barrel, but there’s no human behind it. Just a bear.

A _Teddy_ bear.

_“You wanna see your Dad? Take a look, you little shit.”_

“Dad? Dad! Dad!” Parker keeps shouting as he looks beneath him, his father’s gone, there’ll be nobody to catch him when he falls—

Parker awakens with a sharp gasp.

He’s suddenly cold, but drenched in clammy sweat.

On the floor next to his bed.

Just another Wednesday.

He groans as he stretches out the aches, taking slow deliberate breaths and careful not to cause more damage to the back that— _ouch_ —must have impacted the wooden frame holding his mattress. 

He lets out a soft whistle to beckon Sam Jr, the second german shepherd that they had adopted, in hopes that he could get some sort of comfort from the unconditional love of the hound who would lick his tears away after every nightmare…

Until he remembers that Sam Jr passed away last month. 

Not the only passing of life since that summer in the forest five years ago, but somehow the loss that had hit him the hardest. 

Well, besides Nana Jill. 

But even then—he had been closer to his grandfather and really, they all knew it was coming after the multiple strokes she endured, as if her body had finally gotten tired of keeping itself rigid and strong, sagging and seizing and just wishing for it _all to end._

He hadn’t known the others all that well. Old colleagues, elderly doctors and burnt out detectives that Parker had met on occasions but never _knew_ or admired in the same way his father did, though he did have a certain respect for Jim Brass and made sure to show the highest respect to the man who saved his life. Parker was even the one who insisted on going to the funeral with Nick. 

And it was at that funeral, about three years ago that Parker realized a few things, a few changes that had surreptitiously latched onto his life like a parasite, sucking out his emotions and bringing him to this almost...apathetic shell of himself, his emotions having been assaulted with intrusive thoughts and locked in a box of nightmares.

One being that his father was not as alright as he made himself out to be. 

Truth be told, the first year of his father’s recovery was a rough one for _everyone,_ which wasn’t an excuse but perhaps they all figured because they were suffering together, the pain wasn’t as bad. And Nick, being Nick, despite the loosening grip on mind even when the missing thirty years caught up with him, tried his best to keep everyone...happy? Happy maybe isn’t the best word, because Parker was far from it, but he knew his father was trying to get back to some semblance of normal.

Yet another thing he doesn’t understand about his father. How he just seems to...pretend nothing happened? Brushes it off. Moves on. 

Doesn’t _talk_ about it, just like he doesn’t talk about their mother, not even when he was re-learning who she was. 

And if he did talk about it, maybe he talked about it to all the people that started to leave. Maybe they left _because_ he talked about it. 

They all knew they couldn’t expect everybody to stay with them forever. They all had their own lives to get back to. They kept in touch, sure, weekly phone calls and video calls and occasional weekend trips and visits but as time went on, as some of them passed through the veil of death that his father fought a six week battle with, he realized just how...lonely he had become. He was spoiled by all of the attention from his extended family and now all he had was his father and sister.

He should be more grateful.

He knows he should.

He’s not.

When did Madison stop being enough?

When did Nick stop being enough?

Hell, when did he stop being enough for himself? 

Parker stands up, using the bed for leverage. Stares at the clock. One more hour to get some sleep before his alarm sets off. 

Is it worth it? 

Or should he get a head start on the day? Maybe take a walk, clear his head. Treat himself to having some much needed alone time, without having to worry about getting Madison ready for school or making sure Nick takes his medications, reading the barometer of his health to see if he can go to the office today. 

That was the worst change, really.

He pulls over an old band t-shirt over his head and puts on his shoes. He’s not surprised when he finds a seemingly hypnotized man clinging to a cup of coffee at the table, his glasses crooked and his thinning hair still somehow wildly spiked. 

“Mornin’ Dad,” Parker greets him in a soft voice.

Nick grunts in response, still not entirely awake.

Parker grabs a travel mug and pours himself a cup and reaches for his house keys.

“Out?” Nick gruffly asks when Parker is halfway out the door.

“It’s okay, I’ll be right back, I promise,” Parker whispers. “Just going for a quick walk.”

He used to ask his father to join, but it’s nice to get some free time from the warden every once in a while.

When did his house become a prison, instead of the sanctuary it’s supposed to be? If not necessarily a prison because he’ll admit that word is a harsh one and he doesn’t necessarily feel locked up so much as he just feels...trapped. And if anything, it’s more like an exhausting obligation. A _job._

And he already has two of those.

One of which, he’s suddenly on his way to—albeit a little later than he’d like after a mind-numbing walk that feels wasted in hindsight, after the weirdly hectic morning from an oddly... _moody_ Madison and an overtired Nick who was acting loopy—and not the funny, cute kind, the _annoying_ kind where he couldn’t hold a serious conversation with the man. Parker suggested he stay home for the day and try to take a nap between his virtual meetings with his assistant director Sara Sidle and shift supervisors including Cassie McBride.

It’s the second time this week he’s thought of mentioning retirement to his father in this week alone, though he knows the answer already.

 _“I’ll stop workin’ when they burn my body to a pile of ashes. And even then, y’ain’t gonna get me to stop, I’ll become Ash-Man,”_ Nick would smile to try and lighten the mood, put Parker’s mind at ease.

It wouldn’t help.

_“Doesn’t the priest say some sort of rites to keep your spirit to rest?”_

_“Not having no funeral either, you’re just gonna dump my ashes in the trash.”_

_“Dad!”_

“Dad,” he says sharply, snapping his fingers to get his babble-singing father’s attention. He’d almost rather prefer to talk to the grumpy no-coffee Nick instead of this almost...toddler. “Naptime at ten.”

“‘Leven,” Nick yawns into his fist, leaning back in the chair.

_“Ten.”_

“Wait, why am I even negotiating with ya? I’m sixty _-_ nine years old, not a child.” 

“I’ll be texting Aunt Sara to make sure your meeting ends on time, and back at one to wake you up.”

“Park, I can take care of myself—” Nick winces with a sharp hiss when he gets up to follow Parker out of the kitchen. 

Parker’s eyes fall towards the old man’s knees silently begging for Nick to sit back down.

“Did you take your pain meds?” Parker sighs and folds his arms.

“Ran out,” Nick waves a hand, hobbling his way to the couch in the living room. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”

Parker is already up the stairs, stomping with a little more vigor than usual in this inconvenience when he finds the bottle of pills stashed away in the medicine cabinet, still mostly full even though he’s had it for weeks. 

He tosses it at his father, who fumbles to catch it before he walks out the front door without another word. 

Playing head of the household is nothing new to him. Parker had long since been acting somehow as an entire family unit in himself for the past five years, acting somehow as parent and child in an ever shifting scale of balance. Some days he was more like a father to Madison than Nick, other days, he behaved more like a child though he was the eldest sibling. He was pushed to learn the discipline and responsibility that comes with money management and high work ethic that’s often encouraged in an enterprising youth trying to earn his way towards college, but also spent most of that money helping the family pay the bills and do grocery shopping. 

And sure, they’d know that if they had asked, they’d gladly be helped with the extra costs of living that have come with all the medical expenses that they’re _still_ paying off from Nick’s six week stay in the hospital, from the therapy for both kids—which Parker suddenly groans at, remembering he has to talk to his boss about dipping out early for the second time this week to attend a session—from the donations to the grieving families who reinforced Parker’s feelings for his own.

After all, he’s lucky that all of them survived the last camping trip they took— _will ever_ take again. 

Yet even with all of the money going out, there’s still a steady enough flow coming in for a comfortable life, as he looks back at the modestly large house as if it’s the last time he’ll ever see it again. 

Comfortable enough to purchase the newest video game in his favorite adventure series, he smiles to himself as he looks to the mailbox.

It’s not the only thing he expects to receive in the mail today.

He lets out the breath he was keeping trapped in his body before opening the trunk to his car to deposit his backpack. Though high school is all but done he’s grown accustomed to the secure feeling on his back, the weight of the straps on his shoulders an apt exchange for the shield against his scars. 

“You’re _still_ carrying that backpack around? You’ve had that since what, first grade?” Still dressed in her pajamas, Madison startles him as he reflexively tries to close the trunk, but it’s too—“Wait, what is _that?”_ —late.

“Mom gave me this backpack,” he tries to deflect, which was the truth and a slightly painful one at that. 

He doesn’t quite know why she’s been on his mind so much lately.

Madison lifts the trunk lid before Parker can fully close it, batting his hand away to look at the gear he was trying to hide and ignoring his mention of the mother she never got to know.

“Are you...going _camping?”_ Madison gasps with a mixture of anger and worry in her rising voice and Parker holds up a finger to her mouth as if their father would be able to hear them.

“No!” Parker immediately denies. “No, not...not like... _full on_ camping, just...a bit of a hike.”

“Is that Dad’s paraglider?”

_Yes._

“No.”

“When are you going? Why didn’t you tell me?” she barks out a series of questions, more like a chihuahua's yipping if he’s being honest though he knows it’s just her anxiety ricocheting impossible scenarios in rapid fire succession in her brain.

“I already went!” Parker lies, in an attempt to defuse the situation.

It doesn’t work.

“Where? You haven’t even left San Diego since we visited Uncle Warrick’s grave last month.” Madison calls his bluff. 

“You don’t know that,” Parker scoffs, this time fully closing the trunk.

“Uhm, _yeah,_ I do!” 

“You’re _Dad’s_ shadow, not mine.”

“I got eyes on the back of my head, dumbass,” Madison points into her eyes and then jabs into Parker’s chest. “I know exactly where you are at all times.”

“Stalker,” Parker accuses. 

“With love!” Madison calls back as she heads back towards the house.

“Hey, Madison—” Parker licks his lips and rounds the car, wringing his fingers nervously. “Don’t...Don’t tell Dad?”

Madison looks at the closed door, then steps back down the front steps and walks back to her brother with scrutinous folded arms. She stares at him with furrowed eyebrows and a scrunched face that she doesn’t know reminds him of vague memories of his mother playfully feigning anger at Nick for holding Parker upside down over his shoulders— _”Where did you put our son, Nick?”_ —only to fall into a fit of giggles cause really, she was in on the joke— _“I’m right here, Momma!”_

And it’s a motherly concern that Madison displays for a higher count than the coins in the swear jar...s that they have locked away in a closet. 

Now’s not the time for him to think of it, but maybe they could cash in one of those jars for this week’s groceries.

“Only if you tell me _when, what, where, why_ and _how_ you get to doing whatever it is you’re...doing,” she concedes after Parker starts pouting his lower lip.

“Deal,” Parker grins, further ruffling his sister’s bedhead and dashing back to his car. “Love ya, sis!” 

“Gross,” Madison unceremoniously dismisses him before she walks up the steps and opens the closed door, only after making sure Parker gets out of her sight safely.

He’s late for being early, and even later for being on time when he finally pulls into the parking lot across the street from his day job, and though internally he’s panicking though he knows his leash is loose, he still walks with anchors tied to his feet and he has to _drag_ himself across the street to the seemingly minimalistic art gallery that yes, part of him is excited to be at—but it’s still _work._

 _“All work and no play…”_ as his Uncle Greg often says.

 _“Makes Greg an unemployed boy,”_ his father wouldn’t ever be able to say it with a straight face. One of the many Grissom-isms passed along between his father’s team, told in episodic stories though most of the scenes had been lost in the damage to Nick’s brain.

He did remember that it was actually Warrick who had heard that particular Grissom-ism, and it’s his son who comes up with one of his own; _“There’s a lot of art in that science you so heavily believe in. You just gotta know how to express it.”_

He had given up on sports a long time ago, art was the next interest on the list, and what better teacher than the best artist he’s ever known?

And best boss, who also seems to be running late that morning.

“Hey, bud, how you doin’?” Eli walks up next to Parker, falling in step after subtly brushing Parker to pick up his pace.

“Survivin’,” Parker mumbles. “Sorry I’m late. Again.”

“It’s alright, I’ll pretend you’re not late if you ignore that I’m the latest,” Eli teases with a toothy grin, before it falls into a concerned frown. “You look dead, bro, you get any sleep?” 

He’s offered a cup of coffee, black as midnight on a moonless night and smiles as his eyes meet Eli’s for a fleeting second before they sheepishly fall to the soles of his shoes. 

They move past the lobby through a hidden door in the wall’s paneling, Eli holding the door open for Parker to go through first, ever the gentleman. 

“Thanks…”

“Oh, that’s right. It’s Wednesday,” Eli heaves a sigh when Parker remains silent the rest of the way down the melting tunnel into the true attraction in the gallery; the street show floor, a carving of urban life filled with bright, vibrant murals, graffiti words of _love, peace, hope..._

All of the things Parker is still searching for among the mess of leaves and branches on a forest floor that’s always beneath his feet.

“Whatcha need me to work on today?” Parker asks. 

“Hm, was thinking you could help me paint today, actually. Still got the west wall to finish up.”

“Really? Thought you didn’t trust me after the...tornado incident.”

The “tornado” incident being Parker trying to show off his “expertise” in physics which resulted in the ruining of his favorite shirt, three showers every day for a week in effort to get the paint stains out, and a cut taken out of his paycheck to pay for the wasted material along with the punishment of upsetting his best friend to the point where they didn’t talk for two weeks. 

“What ‘tornado?’’ Eli hands him a paint brush with a wink. “Thought we only get earthquakes and hurricanes out here.”

Parker catches the hint and smiles, happy that at least one wound cause by his own stupidity is seemingly fully forgiven, even if it may not entirely be forgotten. 

Eli turns on the radio and they start to paint, Parker following the instructions and staying in the lines that Eli had sketched out. It was simple, reminds him of old coloring books that told him which color went where. He enjoys the monotony of it, only having to pay attention when switching quadrants and colors—but perhaps it’s a little too mindless by the end of his four hour shift.

“Suh- _weet!”_ Eli whoops, clapping his hand together as they step back to examine their work, the expansive wall colored like a swirling nebula, with spatterings of white paint that Eli whipped all over. “Just gotta dry and then we’re all ready for the grand opening!”

“Yeah, looks good,” Parker nods, nudging Eli in the shoulder. “I’m glad this is working out for you, I’m really proud of you, man.”

“I’m proud of you, too, PR,” Eli hangs an arm around Parker’s shoulder, hugging him to his side and Parker doesn’t even mind the splatter of paint that transfers to his sleeves. “I even got ya to do a little freestylin’...”

Parker scrunches his face and wipes his eyes to get a better look—he did indeed paint just _slightly_ out of the lines, adding a purple streak going out of the vortex.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, man! Hell, it was actually your tornado that gave me this idea in the first place.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the way the floor looked was really inspiring,” Eli digs out his phone and shows the picture of the aftermath, they only had two walls painted at the time and they became the “grafiti” walls in effort to cover up the splatters—but the longer he looks at it, the more he did _sort_ of see a semblance to their collaborated effort...he thinks.

“I don’t get it,” Parker shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to ‘get it,’” Eli grins with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sometimes there’s treasures in those little happy accidents.” 

“You’ve been watching too much Bob Ross,” Parker laughs as he peels off his jumpsuit—that he was smart enough to put on this time—and retrieves his backpack again. 

“Hey, meant to ask you, you get anythin’ yet, schoolboy?” 

“Nah, not yet. Should be comin’ soon though, I applied _weeks_ ago.”

“You better hit me up when you do. We gotta celebrate!” 

“We can celebrate by opening this gallery,” Parker swats Eli on the chest. “Gettin’ tired of you being my boss,” he adds in a playful tease with his tongue sticking out.

“Well maybe one day I’ll be working for you, brainiac. Might fuck around and become a forensic artist so I can work for your lab.”

Parker’s face falls and he starts to walk away.

“Ain’t my lab, hombre. Never will be.”

“Thought you wanted to be like your dad?”

Parker stops for a moment.

“I gotta go.”

* * *

“Dad? You get the mail yet?” 

The sound of his keys jangling against the wall as he re-hooks them is the only sound he hears in the house.

“Dad?”

He knows his meeting with Cassie isn’t until two, so he’s not in his office. Usually he has the tv running or some of his old records playing. 

“...Dad?” 

He passes through the kitchen and cranes his neck to study the couch he left his father on, empty. 

The space next to it isn’t.

He can see the top of his father’s head. Can see one arm laid out across the floor.

His heart sinks.

“Dad!” 

Parker rushes forward, but stops himself when he sees that Nick somehow managed to drag a pillow and blanket down with him to the floor.

His chest is rising and falling. 

He’s just asleep.

_Thank God._

He checks his watch, decides to give him five more minutes.

Parker looks around the room, finds no mail in sight and decides for once, to go get it himself. Nick has insisted on getting the mail for the past year, and while Parker thought it was weird he was happy to oblige his father’s request if only to give him something to do, that maybe having some menial task around the house would make him feel important.

He doesn’t quite know how to tell his father he’s never stopped being important, but understands the frustration of his body shrinking with age, the thick muscles he once had starting to suffer atrophy though the weight seems to be collecting in his gut instead. He has to wear his glasses more, he’s stopped dyeing his hair. In the past few years he’s really started to lean into the older age, physically. But mentally, he’s still fighting it. 

Having a weak body, sure, that’s bad enough but having an even weaker mind, to someone who’s prided himself on keeping it so well guarded? Parker couldn’t even begin to imagine what that would feel like.

Still, he can’t wait any longer. Even if he won’t get to play his game right away, having only an hour and a half of free time before his next shift, the anticipation of an answer to an application is reaching a bursting point. He needs to know, and needs to know _now,_ needs to know what to tell everybody who asks the question, “so, where are you going to college?”

If the odds are in his favor, somewhere far, far from San Diego.

He nearly skips to the mailbox and starts to sift through it on his way back in when he’s stopped by his neighbor.

“Parker! Oh, Parker!” an elderly lady starts to rush towards him with her walker, a small dog at her side that eagerly runs forward to nip at the bottom of Parker’s pants. 

“Hello, Mrs. Shoebill,” Parker waves with a forced smile. Of all the times to be stopped by a chatty neighbor—

“Have you seen Patrick lately?”

Patrick being her grandson that shared the same school bus and grade as Parker, but nothing beyond that. Except an...awkwardly asked request for carpooling to school when Parker got his license, which Parker only did because he’s so polite and wanted to be a good neighbor as Nick always raised him to be. 

And it was never that Patrick and him didn’t get along, it’s just that they didn’t...seem to vibe. Couldn’t hold a long enough conversation, and when they did it would just be...again... _awkward._

“No, sorry,” Parker shuffles, trying to make it obvious he needs to go, and knowing how shy this kid is because of his own past—coming from an abusive home as Mrs. Shoebill told him when he moved in with her just two years ago—perhaps he was just off his own, blowing some steam or working out some anger in private. He had always seemed harmless enough. “Is he still volunteering at the shelter? Maybe he’s there?”

“I’ll give them a call. And you give me one if you hear from him, okay?” Mrs. Shoebill pinches his cheek. Parker winces—thank God Nana Jill never did that grandmotherly gesture. 

“Yeah, okay, I will,” Parker sheepishly mumbles, before waving goodbye and sprinting back to the house. 

He stretches out his pinched jaw as he leafs through the letters, mostly junk, mostly school loan offerings or credit cards or newspapers and magazines and oh, Madison’s Teen Zine—Nick’s university asking for alumni donations—and finally, Parker’s name...from some sort of...penitentiary? 

He scowls—is he getting sent to jail instead of college?—but just puts it up against the small cardboard box he knows is the video game, but the frown turns upside down when he sees another letter addressed to him, this time from the University of California, Los Angeles. 

He enters the house, his heart beating even faster than it was when he first walked in just minutes prior. Nick is still on the floor, Parker passes by without any care to keep quiet— _wake him up after you open this letter,_ he reminds himself—he tosses the rest of the mail onto the kitchen counter, darts up the stairs to drop the rest of his mail in his room and rips open the letter.

 _Dear Parker Stokes, I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted_ —

For the moment, he stops reading there.

“YES!” Parker shouts, he stomps down the stairs and skips the last two in a large leap. 

“Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad!” Parker is practically bouncing as he bounds over the backside of the couch, falling on his stomach to shake his father awake though his eyes were already fluttering from Parker’s shout.

“I’m ‘wake…” Nick mutters, straining to get up.

“DAD! I got accepted!” Parker beams, sitting up on his knees on the couch, reading the words over and over. _Accepted. Fall semester. Full ride._

“Accepted?”

“To UCLA! Oh, man, I gotta tell Uncle Greg—” Parker digs out his phone, his voice cracking in giddiness. 

“Where’s the rest of the mail?” Nick grumbles as he gets to his feet, with more grunts and hisses as one of his joints even _pops._

“On the counter over there, the only other thing I took was my game,” Parker waved his hand as he began to text every number he knew—except for his boyfriend, that he would be seeing in just two hours. 

“Okay.”

“Dad,” Parker begins.

“Yes, son?”

“I got _accepted!”_ Parker giggles.

“Yeah, buddy, heard ya the first time...Congrats.”

Parker’s too excited to even be hurt by the lack of enthusiasm, subconsciously chalks it up to his father’s post-nap crankiness. He’ll tell him again later.

* * *

His second shift is at a nearby department store, a part time position working in stocking and bagging shared with another best friend, though his full time shift had already started four hours prior. 

“What did I miss?” Parker steals a quick slap on his partner’s butt cheeks to startle him and make him yip before planting a kiss on his cheek as he finishes zipping up his employee vest. 

“Ay, Parker!” Colin gasps. “Not at work, c’mon, man…”

“Sorry, you know I’m not usually one for PDA but I can’t help it because I’m just so excited cause I got to get the mail today before my Dad did and got that brand new game and some other weird letter that I’ll open later but more importantly, I GOT ACCEPTED!” Parker’s ramble increases in volume before he wrangles his voice into a loud whisper, the rest of the energy trapped within his vibrating bones.

“YOU GOT ACCEPTED!?” Colin shouts.

“YEAH!” 

“That’s so great! I knew you would!” 

They risk a sweeping hug and Colin drops the box he was scanning, only separating when they hear the tapping of a pen against a clipboard and the clearing of the floor supervisor’s throat.

“Sorry…” Parker immediately starts scratching the back of his head as Colin re-adjusts his clothes. 

But he still can’t contain the bubbling of his voice as he reminds the world, “I got accepted into a university in LA!” 

“Yeah, yeah, congrats or whatever. You plan on working until you fly away?”

“Well, it’s not like, _that_ far away, I was just gonna drive,” Parker misses the sarcasm.

“Babe,” Colin nudges him, handing him a scanner, and Parker finally gets the hint.

“Sorry, ma’am. Just...excited is all.”

“You plan on graduatin’ from this school?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Parker cautiously starts, unsure if their normally stern boss is about to engage in a personal conversation with him. 

“Alright. We’ll see you back here in four years then.”

It feels like he’s a puppy who just got kicked. 

“What a bitch!” Parker squeaks out when she’s out of earshot.

“Don’t mind her, she’s just salty cause she couldn’t make it through med school. Speaking of graduating...Are you going to your graduation? Isn’t that this weekend?”

“No,” Parker sighs, suddenly deflated. 

“Really? After all you’ve been through, all you’ve accomplished—”

“Nothing really worth having a ceremony for. Especially not having to repeat my freshman year.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t your fault, it was that stupid counselor who made it happen, we all know you could have passed your finals otherwise.”

“He wasn’t stupid. He had a point. I wasn’t focused. For obvious reasons.”

“Well, regardless, I’m sure everybody wants to see this happen. Not just our class but your class, too.”

“The kids one or two years younger than me?”

“Yeah, they all loved you! Even those idiot bullies who are probably gonna become something wasted like...I don’t know, garbage men or somethin’.”

“Garbage men make a decent living, actually. And the only reason they didn’t pick on me was cause they pitied me, Col,” Parker moves down the aisle as Colin continues on his end.

“What about me then?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I took a _gap year_ for you,” Colin whispers when they see the supervisor circling back like a vulture.

Parker clenches his jaw and his deflated body crumbles even further under the crushing guilt.

“I know...I’m sorry.”

“So...will you go?”

“I...I wanna…”

_Not really._

“But it’s too late to get tickets.”

“I’m sure they’ll let your Dad and sister come. I can watch the livestream.”

“Don’t want special treatment.”

“Well, tough, cause you’ve already gotten it. Might as well milk it.”

“Ain’t the only cow I’m gonna have to milk,” Parker smirks as he watches the supervisor get into an argument with a nearby customer, going red in the face. He nods his head towards the scene for Colin to look over before they fall into a fit of silent giggles, and continue on with their work until break time comes. 

Well, Colin’s break time, and Parker’s play time as he takes multiple “bathroom breaks” and trips to the back, though he gets away with it because the second shift supervisor seems to like him more than the first shift supervisor who leaves right at five o’clock.

Yet he was somehow less eager for today’s shenanigans anyway, as he was hoping to avoid the continued conversation that Colin of course tries to start again over going to graduation with a surreptitious bridge of “man, I can’t wait till we get to walk out of this hellhole together...even though we didn’t get to walk the stage together.” Parker tried to change the subject, his excitement only just starting to build back up over his acceptance letter until he had to take a real break when he got a 9-1-1 text from Madison, begging him to call her.

“What’s your ‘emergency?’” 

He hears the rapid beeps indicating that she wants to share her phone screen with him. She’s in her bedroom, setting her phone on her vanity and stepping back.

“Which one looks better?” Madison holds up one dress, then the other. 

_“You’re_ putting on a _dress?_ ” Parker laughs.

“We’re taking Greg to the fanciest restaurant in town! Gotta looks sharp and my suit’s at the dry cleaners.”

The suit she normally wears when her father has court dates, and she accompanies him.

“I think your pajamas would look best, and probably be more comfortable, too. Cause you should stay home.”

“Ha. No I’m not.”

“Mads...you’re fourteen years old, you can stay home by yourself. Dad knows that, too. You don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, but Dad does.”

It’s a conversation that never seems to have an end. He’ll admit it was endearing at first, and even put his own mind to ease knowing Madison would follow Nick literally _everywhere_ he went—the only times they’re apart being school and work respectively—because there was less of a chance of him doing something stupid with his daughter around, and more of a chance of him even using Madison as a scapegoat to get out of things he didn’t want to do. It’s what he’s owed after all that happened, anyway.

But his father is too nice, too worried about upsetting Madison to admit that it was starting to get a little…old with her growing age, and with his desire for independence. 

Parker had already tried talking to Nick about it, only for him to say, _“Remember what happened when I did leave her home when I went to go pick up your aunt from the airport?”_

The same aunt that ended up staying in a hotel after Parker forewarned Nick about the destroyed house, about his bleeding arm from her scratching, about the non-stop crying and hyperventilating and the trip to the emergency room because she just _wouldn’t stop_ —

So. He did have a point.

But still, she’s no longer the little girl who was scared and needed a hand to hold. She was a terrorizing teen who needed to learn that life is tough, just as he did around her age. 

“Madison, I want you to stay home.”

“I don’t care what you want. This isn’t about you!” Madison starts crying—legitimate crying, not the crocodile tears she would feign to get Parker in some sort of trouble just for her own gain.

“What is with you today?” 

“I started my period today!” she snaps.

“Oh.”

Parker pulls his face into a tight cringe, his only exposure to the menstrual cycle has been the talk of it in his health and science classes—he definitely wouldn’t understand the times that his mother had it when she was still alive.

“Do you...need me to bring anything home?” he offers as an olive branch.

“Yeah...maybe some...pads? I don’t like the tampons. And maybe some chocolate ice cream? Make sure you keep it in the freezer though, cause knowing those two lovebirds, we’re not gonig to be home till _much_ later.”

 _“Madison!”_ Parker just happens to groan her name as he can hear his father’s voice calling with a knock. 

“Come in, Daddy!” 

“You ready, baby?”

“Just a minute, I gotta pick a dress—Which one you like better?”

“Hmm... _that_ one,” Nick must have pointed to the black one she holds higher that’s better suited for a funeral, in Parker’s opinion, but he would have really gone with the other one. 

“Gotta go, bro, thanks byeeeee!” Madison chirps, her mood swung back into excitement.

“Wait, wait, wait, Maddy, before you go…” Parker quickly grabs her attention. “Did you hear I got accepted?”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first twenty times. Congrats. Again.”

She frowns when his face falls.

“Parker, really...I mean it. I’m-I’m _proud_ of you.”

Parker’s chin wobbles because for a moment, even with the accent of their father, the emotion behind her voice sounds exactly like their mother’s.

* * *

Even though he thinks he’s ahead of the curve, his innocence shattered at an early enough age for him to get a glimpse outside the shelter of his youth, Nick Stokes will be the first to admit there is still a lot to life he doesn’t understand. 

And yes, he still thinks that even now, at the end of his life.

Well, the _end_ of his life was a little dramatic. It’s not the end, not yet.

But his loved ones are dropping like flies. 

His drop will be coming soon enough.

Maybe not fast enough.

Or maybe too fast, just like one of the biggest things he doesn’t understand; how his children grew up too fast. How he doesn’t even seem to remember most of their childhoods. How it almost feels like these past five years are the _first_ five years he’s really known them. 

Yet there’s a lot he still remembers, like the first time he held them in his arms.

Parker in the bathroom of their house—no, in the hospital, sweating and tears in his eyes from watching his wife scream her way through hours and hours of intense labor to witness for the first time in his life, a _live_ birth. 

Madison on the couch in their living room watching Hotel Transylvania—no, also in the hospital, with his wife who seemed more equipped to do the job with less pain now that she knew what to expect. Though he imagined it still hurt like hell, and he still held her hand even tighter than before, as he had grown to love her more and more in the years they had become not just husband and wife, but actual _lovers._

And then he’ll get sad because for some reason, he thinks he fell out of love with her...and doesn’t quite remember why. 

Flashes of her appear in his nightmares often, with some other woman with a familiar name, one that flashes in his head like a warning sign for danger ahead. 

He usually ends up lumping it with the other indiscernible flashes of his past that he’s tried to forget. It’s the one good thing about the thirty year amnesia, he finally seems to be able to pick and choose what he thinks about.

Though he wishes he could remember _more_ than he actually does, when he _wants_ to remember. 

He does seem to remember a lot about his sisters’ and mother’s period, when Madison comes home crying and cramping and scared out of her mind—though she’s known about it for quite some time now, worrying that she would never get it when all her other friends had gotten it _years_ ago.

He didn’t have any comfort to offer about that, but did when it came to the pain associated with it.

“Your grandma used to always get a heating pad and sit in Cisco’s recliner with a tub of chocolate ice cream and her favorite shows.”

“I do that anyway,” Madison groans with tears in her eyes as she throws herself across the kitchen island. Nick nudges her flaccid arm out of the way as he tries to prepare a late lunch.

“What did Mom used to do?” she dares to ask, though she knows she’s not going to get a straight answer. 

He wishes he could give her one.

All he remembers is something...about french fries.

“You should get a plate of fries with dinner tonight.”

“Speaking of which, you’re going to ruin your appetite for dinner, you know.”

“I’m always hungry,” he shrugs. He turns his back for a few minutes and thinks she’s slinking herself back up the stairs after hearing the scraping of the bar stool before she suddenly appears behind the closing refrigerator door, absolutely distraught and her hair frazzled.

“Daddy…”

“Maddy…”

“You don’t...you don’t mind that I’m comin’ with, do you?” Madison’s voice shakes, her eyes wet.

It’s the first time she’s asked that in the past five years.

“No, monkey, no…” Nick immediately softens, setting his food down to cup her cheeks in his hands. “I don’t mind _at all._ I want to spend every second with you.”

Though he’d be lying if there was a part of him that... _did_ mind.

“But...what about Greg?”

“Greg loves seeing you, too! Where is this coming from?”

“Parker.”

“Well, he’s just jealous that we’re getting some Daddy-daughter bonding time is all,” Nick presses his lips against her forehead, hugging her close to his chest. He starts to stroke her back and he suddenly gets a flash—holding a taller woman with similar hair, tears staining the same shirt, and he’s just as helpless to stop her pain, too.

He frowns when he remembers he’s holding his baby girl, _Madison Grace,_ who is taller than she should be. Older than she should be. Last he remembers...she was nine years old. Not fourteen. 

And hell, feels like she was just born yesterday.

“Hey, we gotta get ready,” he pats her back when he sees the time, pausing if only for a moment to remind him of his date with destiny incarnate. 

“Okay,” Madison sniffles. 

“C’mon, baby,” he guides her upstairs, their movements slow between Nick’s stiff knees and Madison’s insistence on continuing to hug him, her head laid against his beating heart until he gently pries her off and pushes her into her bedroom. 

She closes the door and he sighs in relief when he hears her calling Parker moments later.

Parker. _Parker,_ didn’t he get something in the mail today, he said? 

It’s not necessarily that he’s screening his mail but...yes, he’s screening his mail. He’s had offers from a few colleges out of state that he’s accidentally dumped in the trash, those schools aren’t good enough for him anyway. 

Though the UNLV offer, with potential to move back to Vegas was...tempting.

He’s sure Parker didn’t want to go there either, especially when he never really actually _applied_ to these places. Didn’t ask, didn’t work to get there. He _did_ apply to a few others, though. 

And got accepted into one of them. 

But there was another letter he didn’t ask for, too. From somebody he needs to be protected from, for his own good. 

All of this was for _his own good._

To keep him safe.

He’s only five years old, after all.

Nick gently nudges Parker’s slightly ajar door— _well, it’s not locked,_ he figures, the same logic he often used when snooping through other homes for an investigation.

But he doesn’t go in. 

Maybe this will be the one day he _doesn’t_ get a letter from her. 

He continues on to his room, dresses himself in the first suit he can find.

A silver one, didn’t he wear this on a date with Finn once? Perhaps best not to wear it for Greg.

A brown suit? No, that’s tacky, reminds him of his early days in the unfashionable millenia and long court cases with a sore ass that would have benefited from some cushioning implants. 

There’s a blue pinstripe one that looks zany enough for Greg to appreciate, and would pair well with his grey hair—and the stripes aren’t even that obnoxious.

He goes with that one, and then calls out for his daughter to help him with his tie.

She seems less upset by the time they get to the restaurant and Nick’s nerves settle when he finds a more familiar face waiting for him with a wine glass and already rosy cheeks.

“Hey,” Greg stands up to hug Nick.

“Hey, G,” Nick smiles back, risking a quick peck on his cheek before Madison squeezes through them, wrapping herself around Greg’s waist. 

“Hi, Greg!” 

Her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

“Hey, Madison,” Greg laughs though Nick just clears his throat and awkwardly sits himself down in the booth. 

They spend the first few minutes discussing menu options, and Madison suddenly decides she doesn’t want anything—which Nick knows is absolute bullshit, she’s gonna end up eating all of his dinner so he orders two entrees and an extra plate of fries. 

Once the waiter disappears, a short-lived conversation begins.

“Hey, have you heard from Morgan lately?”

“Morgan?”

“Brody, you know, Ecklie’s daughter?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Oh...no? Why did she have a different last name from Ecklie, if she was his daughter?

Or wait, wasn’t there a little blonde haired girl running through the halls one night when he had to stay late?

Or was that Lindsey?

“Well...turns out her dad’s...got a lung disease. They don’t think he’s got long to live.”

“Oh, man...that...that’s…”

“Terrible,” Madison mumbles. 

As if she even knows who Conrad Ecklie is.

Nick clenches his jaw and shakes it off.

“They’re gonna be naming one of the press halls after him, though.”

“Hmm, guess all you have to do is die for that to happen, huh?”

“We outta give it a try.”

“Uncle Greg!” Madison whines, and Nick raises his eyebrows, _yeah, really, Greg?_

“Sorry,” Greg ducks his head. “Kinda sad to see so many people go, though, you know?”

“Yeah...At least we still have Grissom,” Nick sighs. 

“Uncle Grissom is _immortal,”_ Madison chimes in.

“Yes, yes he is sweetie,” Nick smiles, throwing his arm around her. 

The conversation lightens as a bread basket is brought out with three soup bowls, only two of which are touched while Madison makes a mess of cracker crumbs on the table, playing lightsabers with the mini-breadsticks underneath the table with Greg as Nick recounts the events of the mostly uneventful week, save for his pride that Cassie is getting an award for her outstanding work. 

“I just can’t believe it man, I feel like it was just yesterday she came into my office as a college student on a tour, and now here she is, promoted to night shift supervisor and gettin’ awards. I know I didn’t raise her but I...I’m just so proud of her.”

“Are you proud of me too?” Madison pouts, bringing up the imaginary lightsaber.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course,” Nick quickly kisses her and meanwhile, Greg is reaching for his hand across the table.

“Well, you’ve always inspired a lot of ambition. You’ve always been a good leader.”

Nick’s eyes twinkle at the compliment. 

“You flatter me, Sanders.”

“That’s my new job. Part time job. Nick Stokes flatter-er.” 

They share a laugh, though Madison doesn’t join in for once, finding interest in a painting hanging on the wall. 

“I just...Just...kinda wish Parker maybe would have done the same. Work in the lab as an intern or something while goin’ to a local college,” Nick leans in for a whisper while Madison is seemingly distracted enough not to listen.

“Dad…” Madison tugs on Nick’s sleeve.

Nick’s distracted, too.

“Who knows, he did seem to have a huge interest in genetics. Maybe he’ll be working in your lab as a DNA tech like his favorite uncle, here,” Greg smiles, lost in Nick’s eyes and leaning in closer. 

“Dad!” 

Silverware clatters, Greg’s wine glass nearly tips over, but he catches it on his way back.

“Madison, _sweetie,”_ Nick’s patience is wearing thin, “That was a little rude—”

 _“Dad,_ we have to go.”

“But, sweetie, we just got here, haven’t even eaten yet.”

“No, we have to go _now!”_ Madison hisses. She points down to her crotch.

“Didn’tcha put...something there?”

“It’s not working, I don’t think I put it in right, it _hurts_ and it’s not s’pposed to hurt!” Madison’s voice is getting uncomfortably loud, Nick tries to shush her, his cheeks and ears burning bright red.

“Nick, it’s...it’s okay, I can get it to go?” Greg senses the escalating situation and tugs on Nick’s fingers to get his attention. “Maybe we can bring it back to your place?’

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Madison decides. “Then you can hear Parker tell you a thousand times how he got accepted into college.”

“Yeah, hey, I heard about that, you must be so proud!” Greg says to Nick with a clap to his shoulder while Madison slides out of the booth painfully and carefully, as if she was the one who had fallen off of a cliff and lived to tell the tale.

“Yeah,” Nick nods tightly, his voice uncharacteristically flat as Madison drags him away from the one thing he was looking forward to all week. “So proud.”

* * *

Despite their kiss and make-up over the whole graduation dispute, Parker still decided to go home early, his social battery depleted from the excitement of getting _accepted_ into a university after honestly worrying he wasn’t going to, but not necessarily because he’s a bad student. 

Because he’s a struggling one.

Sure, he’s smart, but studying is difficult. His mind tends to wander if it’s not stimulated and most of the topics he’s tested on are just so...unappealing. He’s only held the most interest in science, and that’s really due to his _father’s_ interest in the subject. Otherwise, he couldn’t really care who the fifth president of the united states was, or how two times two plus four minus x gets you to ten, or writing out his _feelings_ in a haiku that he still doesn’t know how to write. 

And not only that, but there was a lot of pressure for him to go...to a community college instead. To take an easy commute. To stay home. 

To stay _sheltered._

Perhaps a change of scenery would be best, really.

_“Well, you can just stay late at school to study in the library, then come home to sleep in your own bed. College ain’t all that great anyway.”_

Says the man who tells countless stories of the fun he had with his fraternity.

_“I’m tellin’ ya, when I lived in a dorm I basically lived on ramen noodles and beer. Not the healthiest diet. Not to mention all the all-nighters and drama between friends…”_

His diet isn't too far from that anyway, as he eats a late night dinner of microwave popcorn. And sleep? Forget it. The house is basically filled with insomniacs.

_“And it’s not a bad thing to go to a community college, most kids go when they first get outta high school. Cheaper, too. And hell, nobody seems to be moving outta the house until they’re thirty!”_

He will _definitely_ be out of this house by then.

As he sinks into his bed he reaches for the untouched gamebox, opening up and savoring the fresh smell of the tight plastic, slowly peeling the sealing tape and pressing it into his fingers giving him a sensory pleasure that eases the doubts in his head. 

He plugs the game in and leans back against the backboard of his bed, and while the game downloads an update he reaches for the rest of his mail, sifting through the junk to find the letter he neglected earlier from the prison.

He doesn’t know anybody in prison.

Well, except for two men but they sure as hell wouldn’t have his address...would they?

Besides, the return address is for a _women’s_ prison. 

Is there maybe another Parker Stokes out there that he’s been confused for?

He thinks about waiting for Nick, wondering and fearfully worrying that perhaps he’s got a target on his back because of his father’s position. 

He can’t burden Nick with that. Not now.

He opens the letter and begins to read, the recipient seemingly continuing a one-sided conversation as if they had been exchanging letters for the last couple months. Asking personal questions and bringing up his loved ones as if they love them, too. 

It starts to creep him out, because this person does obviously know him, and he doesn’t know them.

Until his eyes flicker down to the end of the letter. To the signature.

_Naomi Proot._

“...Mom?”


End file.
